


liebstraum no. 3

by perissologist



Series: a little less conversation [4]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Grayson (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 05:25:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8358979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perissologist/pseuds/perissologist
Summary: Oh. Dick’s eyes widen. It’s—the guy. From— He almost takes a step back as his gaze skitters over the entire group again, sinking into the realization. The five-person dance crew in the red baseball caps, their frontman that he’d helped out of the theater with the raspy voice and blue-green eyes—“Hey,” Jason greets him, head tilted. “Have we met before?”





	

Wally and Donna’s faces are the first thing that Dick sees as he walks into the cafe, shining with excitement and exactly as beautiful as Dick remembers them. Wally leaps up from his seat immediately, dashing across the shop to sweep Dick into a bone-crushing hug; Donna follows with a little more grace, though the smile she gives him is just as warm.

 

“Fuck, Rob,” Wally sniffs, squeezing Dick so tightly that he lifts him clear off his feet, the tall freak. “I missed you, you asshole.”

 

Dick lets out a wheezing laugh, clumsily patting Wally’s disheveled ginger hair. “Yeah, buddy,” he says, “I missed you, too.”

 

The second Wally releases Dick, Donna tugs him into a hug of her own. The scent of her jasmine vanilla shampoo and the soft weight of her arms around him makes Dick feel the safest he’s been since his last visit home. “Welcome home, boy wonder.”

 

Dick buries his face in Donna’s hair and feels like the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders. “Thanks, girl wonder. It’s good to be back.”

 

Donna pulls away, and Dick tries for a careless grin that comes out a little too wobbly around the edges to be successful. “Wow,” he laughs, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. “Quite a welcoming, huh?”

 

Donna rolls her eyes and grabs Dick’s hand, dragging him to the booth where she and Wally had been before Dick arrived. “Yeah, kiddo, that’s what happens when you don’t come home for a year.” She sits him down on one side, then pulls Wally down to sit next to her on the other side. “So.” She leans forward, leveling him with dark, serious eyes. “We have a lot to talk about.”

 

Dick blinks, thrown by the sudden change in tone. “Uh…” He glances to Wally, but Wally just gives him a sheepish shrug, looking suddenly guilty. “I mean—yeah, I do have about eleven months worth of tour stories for you—”

 

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it,” Donna interrupts him. She spends a moment just staring him down while Dick looks back at her, bewildered; then she sighs, her entire expression softening.

 

“I thought you said you were giving up the whole illegal dance-offs thing once you got back to Gotham,” she says, gently. 

 

Dick deflates instantly, effectively defenseless against the deadliness of Donna’s disappointment. He manages to hold his own for approximately two seconds; then he groans and tilts his head back, closing his eyes so he doesn’t have to look into Donna’s sharp, worried gaze anymore.

 

“How do you know I didn’t?” he mutters, just in case she’s bluffing—he’s been tricked into admitting his own guilt by Donna too many times in the past not to at least try.

 

Donna huffs and pulls out her phone, selecting the browser and thumbing impatiently through the open tabs. She lands on one with a YouTube video paused halfway through and turns the screen to push it into Dick’s face, brow raised as if in challenge. Dick cracks an eye open and cringes: The video title boasts _7/12/16 Nightwing performs at Gotham street dance competition MINUTES before police raid!!!_

 

“Well,” he starts, then stops, releasing an exaggerated exhale. “You got me there.”

 

Donna sighs, setting her phone down on the table. “Dick…you know these competitions are _illegal_ , don’t you? I mean, between the trespassing, and the drugs, and the fact that so many of the crews that compete are involved in some form or another of criminal activity—”

 

“Donna,” Dick interjects, before Donna can start on one of the hyper-logical rants that she’s gotten so good at now that she’s just a few months out from finishing law school. “It’s _fine._ The dancers are good people, and _talented;_ the drugs only show up every once in a while, and just get you kicked out by the DJ anyway; and the trespassing is just on old, abandoned properties—no harm, no foul, right?”

 

Donna just looks at him. “It’s still illegal, Dick,” she says. Her next words come gently, like she knows how much potential they have of breaking him. “And you’re still Bruce Wayne’s son.”

 

Dick’s throat closes up. He swallows and looks away, a hot red flush crawling up his neck. In all his time away, he was almost allowed to forget that he belongs to Bruce. He should know by now that nobody in Gotham will ever allow him that luxury. 

 

Wally leans forward, voice lowered. “He doesn’t know that you do this, does he?”

 

Dick snorts. “‘Course not. None of them know.” He pauses. “Well, maybe Cassandra knows, but she wouldn’t tell—I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want me dead.”

 

Donna hums. “You see?” she asks, softly. 

 

Dick exhales forcefully, stomach roiling. “Yeah.” He curses, dropping his face into his hands. “Fuck. Yeah.” Now that he’s actually being forced to think about it, a part of him can’t believe he’s been so irresponsible. Participating in illegal dance competitions with nothing but a glorified scarf to hide his identity? What if the press found out? God, what if the _board_ found out?

 

But another part of him—the part that has never felt so _alive_ as when he pulled off that upside-down split fifteen feet up in the air, suspended by nothing but his own grip on a grappling hook that he bought from a sports utility store the day before—

 

“Fuck, this is depressing,” Wally announces, in typical Wally fashion. “Let’s move on. What was it that you wanted to show me, Dick?”

 

Dick blinks, looking up. It takes him a moment to remember what Wally is talking about. The moment he does, he winces on instinct. “Uh—well, considering the conversation we just had, you’re probably not going to like it.”

 

Donna lifts an eyebrow. “What is it?”

 

Dick sighs, digs out his own phone, and shows them the last text in his messages. Wally frowns at it, confused. “What does that mean?”

 

Dick braces himself. “Have you ever heard of Street Fleet?”

 

There’s a long, terrible moment in which Donna and Wally both stare at him, shocked. Then Donna groans, loud and exasperated. “Honestly, Dick, what the _fuck._ ”

 

“It’s Street Fleet!” Dick bursts out, defensive. “It’s the biggest thing in hip-hop on the east coast. How could I _not?_ ”

 

“It’s also, like, the most illegal of all the illegal underground dance competitions,” Wally points out. “Like, the _places_ where the funding comes from—”

 

“Yeah, I get it, thanks,” Dick hisses. “It’s just—people were expecting me, you know?” He pauses, biting his lip. “I mean, not me, but—me. Nightwing.”

 

“Dick, you know you have to pull out,” Donna says.

 

Dick’s mouth twists. “Donna, I can’t.”

 

“Dick, it’s _illegal._ ”

 

“Yeah, we covered that, thanks—”

 

“Uh, guys,” Wally starts, eyes suddenly wide.

 

“You’re the _heir_ to Wayne Industries, Dick, you can’t afford to have a record—”

 

“What would they even charge me with, Donna? Trespassing? Possession of banned moves, with intent to perform? What is this, _Footloose_?” 

 

“No, seriously, you’re gonna wanna see this,” Wally tries again. 

 

“Your relationship with Bruce is already fragile enough—”

 

“As if _anything_ I do or don’t do would make a difference with _him_ —”

 

“ _Guys!_ ” Wally hisses, sharp enough to cut Dick and Donna off mid-sentence. He hunches inwards over the table, chin lowered, eyes flicking meaningfully over the top of the booth. “Will you just shut up for a second and _look?_ ”

 

Dick and Donna both look at him, confused, before following his gaze to the entrance. A group of five has just entered, shaking water off their shoulders from the light rain outside and calling to each other over the soft music of the cafe. All five bear matching patches on their jackets, dark blue with a brand for  _RH Automatics_ stitched in red on top, and at the front of the group are two redheads, one tan and lanky, the other tall and willowy with loose curls falling down to her waist.

 

Dick freezes. Across from him, Donna lets out an abrupt, strained “Oh my god.”

 

It’s been—god, _years_ since Dick last saw Roy and Kori, longer still since they were on speaking terms. Parting with Kori was difficult enough, but… Seeing Roy standing there, chatting casually with his friends as he shakes his jacket out over the welcome mat, makes something sharp and white-hot twist in Dick’s chest. All of the old guilt and nostalgia and regret that he thought he’d left in his past comes flooding back, filling his throat until he feels like he’s going to choke. The period of his life where he and Roy fell apart _broke_ something in Dick, something he thought he’d never get back—but now—

 

_He looks good,_ Dick thinks, distantly, gaze traveling over him. He’s got color in his cheeks, his skin is clear, his hair is neatly groomed and his eyes look bright and well-rested— _He looks clean._ The tight, painful knot in Dick’s throat loosens, just a little. _He looks happy._

 

Without thinking, he rises to his feet. “I’m gonna go talk to him.”

 

“ _What?_ ” Wally hisses, at the same time that Donna blurts “Wait, Dick, I don’t think that’s a good idea—”

 

But it’s too late—Dick is already up and moving, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders loose in an attempt to make himself appear as casual as possible. Roy sees him when he’s halfway across the cafe, and his reaction is the exact opposite: He tenses instantly, flushing pale as his gaze meets Dick’s. By the time they’re standing face to face, the shock on his features has been wrestled away, replaced by wariness that just borders on the edge of hostility.

 

Dick comes to a halt before him and gives himself a second to just take him in, up close. He begins to remember things he hasn’t thought about in years—like the the strawberry-blond freckles that dot Roy’s nose whenever he tans, or the fact that Roy is not a little taller than him, by just over three inches. 

 

“Hi, Roy,” he says, at last. “Hey, Kori.”

 

Kori turns at the sound of her name and nearly flinches back, eyes widening. “Dick,” she says, stunned.

 

Dick looks between them and forces out a smile. “How are you?” 

 

Roy’s expression hasn’t changed. Kori glances at him, then back to Dick. “We are well.” She hesitates, looking conflicted; then she seems to come to a decision and graces him with a small, but real, smile. “It is good to see you again.”

 

Gratitude lodges in Dick’s throat. “Yeah. You too, Kori.” He meets Roy’s eyes. “It’s been a while.”

 

For a moment, Roy doesn’t respond, and Dick is nearly crushed by the overwhelming fear that Roy will just ignore him—but then he relents, giving Dick a stiff but courteous nod. “It has,” he states, tone carefully neutral. “Five years.”

 

_Five years._ “Yeah, sounds about right,” Dick agrees, with a faint laugh. “How have you—how are you doing?”

 

The inquiry into Roy’s well-being is thinly veiled at best, but to Dick’s relief, Roy doesn’t call him on it—just looks at him for a moment, considering. “I’m good,” he replies, finally. There’s a note of finality in his voice that makes Dick believe him.

 

Dick nods. “Good. I’m—glad.” He swallows, eyes flickering to the posse lingering in unsure silence behind Roy and Kori. “Your friends?”

 

Roy glances behind him. “Oh—my roommates. You know Kyle.”

 

Kyle tips his head. “Hey, Grayson.”

 

Dick almost wants to laugh. “Hey, Rayner. How’s Hal?”

 

Kyle grins. “As much of an asshole as always.”

 

“Duke Thomas, from Burnley,” Roy continues, “and Jason Todd, from the East End.”

 

Duke is a tall, skinny guy with a wide, friendly smile, who greets Dick with a casual wave. Jason is just as tall, but a little thicker, with cautious teal eyes and a shock of white hair hanging over his forehead that looks achingly familiar—

 

_Oh._ Dick’s eyes widen. _It’s—the guy. From—_ He almost takes a step back as his gaze skitters over the entire group again, sinking into the realization. The five-person dance crew in the red baseball caps, their frontman that he’d helped out of the theater with the raspy voice and blue-green eyes—

 

“Hey,” Jason greets him, head tilted. “Have we met before?”

 

Next to Jason, Roy’s gone stock-still, lips twisted. Dick clears his throat. “Sorry, I don’t think so?”

 

Jason’s eyes are sharp on him, scrutinizing. “It’s just—you seem familiar, somehow.”

 

Dick attempts a charming smile. “I hope this doesn’t make me sound like an egomaniac, but you might’ve seen me on TV somewhere? The press kind of likes to follow my family around.”

 

Dick can pick out the exact moment the realization dawns on Jason’s face. “Oh,” he says. “You’re—Dick _Grayson_.” He looks Dick up and down. “Wayne heir, professional acrobat Dick Grayson.”

 

Dick coughs. “Guilty.”

 

Jason takes him in for a moment. “You look different in person.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Dick’s grin feels a little more genuine this time. “Better or worse?”

 

Jason’s gaze drags down Dick’s body, and Dick finds himself flushing. A tiny smirk quirks the corner of his mouth as he meets Dick’s eyes again. “Better,” he answers. “Less polished.”

 

That gets a laugh out of Dick. “Next time I go on air, I’ll tell that to my stylist. Maybe then I can finally convince her to stop putting so much makeup on me.”

 

Jason lifts an eyebrow. “I don’t know,” he says, measured. “I think you’d pull off eyeliner.”

 

Dick opens his mouth, but no words come out. Jason is looking at him, unflinching, a glint in his eye that’s almost challenging, and all Dick can think is: _Is he mocking me or flirting with me?_

 

“Order 128,” the barista calls, effectively dislodging the moment. “Two regulars, one frap, one mocha, one peppermint cappuccino?” 

 

“Oh, that’s us,” Duke notes, and separates himself from the group to grab the order at the counter. Roy turns to Dick, a line of tension visible in his shoulders.

 

“We have to go,” he says. “Somewhere to be.”

 

“Oh.” Dick nods, quickly. “Yeah, sure. It was—it was good seeing you again, Roy. You too, Kori.”

 

“You as well, Dick,” Kori says, as Duke returns with the coffees. “Do not be afraid to keep in touch.”

 

Dick gives her a small smile. “Thanks, Kori.” He manages to keep it together until they’re out the door; then he slumps, posture sagging, feeling as drained as if he’d just run a marathon.

 

In a second, Wally and Donna are at his side. “How was _that?_ ” Wally asks, sounding like he’s holding back a grimace.

 

Dick exhales. “Better than expected.”

 

Donna fixes him with worried eyes. “You alright?”

 

Dick swallows. “Fine.”

 

Wally looks at him for a moment, then sighs. “Dick, it was ages ago, and you were a kid. You’ve got to stop beating yourself up over it.”

 

Dick nods. He can’t quite tear his gaze away from the door. “Right,” he says. “I’ll—get right on that.”

 

Wally and Donna exchange another weighted look; then Donna sighs, grabbing Dick by the arm. “C’mon,” she says, dragging him out the door. “We’re having a drink back at my place.”

 

Dick frowns at her. “It’s ten in the morning.”

 

Wally claps a hand on his shoulder and uses it to not-so-gently guide him out of the cafe. “Yeah, buddy, but trust me—you need it.”

 

~*~

 

“What was _that?_ ”

 

Jason laughs, accepting the peppermint cappuccino that Duke is offering him. “What? Your rich friend is hot.”

 

“More than ‘hot,’” Kyle chuckles, a note of nostalgia in his voice. “Man, I forgot how fucking _gorgeous_ Dick Grayson is.”

 

There’s a displeased slant to Roy’s mouth that Jason doesn’t often see. “You don’t wanna go there,” he warns, voice tight. “Trust me—it won’t end well.”

 

Jason pauses mid-sip, taking a moment to study Roy’s expression. He seems unsettled, and like he’s trying to hide it—but Jason hasn’t been friends with him for this long to miss the tight line of his jaw, or the distracted way he rubs at his left forearm, where the healed-over marks hide under the sleeve of his shirt. Next to him, Kori sighs, glancing over Roy’s shoulder to meet Jason’s gaze in a look that tells him everything he needs to know.

 

“Alright,” Jason agrees, easy. “I won’t.”

 

Roy falters in his step. “You won’t?”

 

“Nah,” Jason says, then tacks on, teasing, “He’s pretty, but you’re the real apple of my eye, Harper.”

 

Roy snorts. Like that, the unease falls away from him, like a shed skin. “You’re a real charmer, aren’t you, Jaybird?”

 

“Just for you,” Jason drawls, throwing an arm around Roy’s neck. “Alright, kiddos, let’s get a move on. These choreographies aren’t going to practice themselves.”

 

Duke smirks over the lid of his coffee. “Y’know, homie likes to act like he’s tough shit, but if there’s a mom in this group, it’s him, isn’t it?”

 

“Shut _up_ , Thomas.”

**Author's Note:**

> i don't have much to say about this, except--things continue to happen? hopefully this chapter wasn't too boring, i wanted to lay down some character relations development before i moved on to more plot and jason/dick stuff. upcoming chapters are planned to feature our favorite dc trio member and some faces from dick's gallery of Brooding Older Men, so stay tuned for more fun :) 
> 
> honestly, i'm so mixed up in this story that i have a need to be almost constantly talking about it. leave a comment, hit me up at perissologist.tumblr.com/ask, or just message my blog directly for some Chats and Good Times (TM), i'm always there! and don't be shy to leave prompts, at this rate i'm going to run out of my own ideas fast


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